Je ne sais pas
by Beautiful Savage
Summary: Normally Holmes is the one who goes to criminals, but when suddenly 221B Barker Street becomes a crime scene this take a turn for the odd. More and more it seems that the detective and his home have become the target of someone.
1. An outting

Watson sighed as he once again stood outside 221b Baker Street. It seemed that Holmes had once again decided to lock himself in his rooms for an extended period of time and terrorize the landlady. Sighing he raised his hand knocking softly and wondering once again how he'd become such good friends with an odd man.

"Oh thank god," Ms. Hutson said opening the door, "I was..." she began only to be interrupted by an ear shattering bang causing both of them to flinch, "I'm afraid he's finally lost it Doctor," she said stepping aside so he could step in as another bang echoed threw the house.

"Damnit! Bloody idiot's playing with gun powder again. I swear I'll kill that man," came a clipped voice with an accent that wasnt quiet English as a blur of green skirts brushed by the doctor and landlady and up the stairs. Blinking with curiosity he glanced down at Ms. Hutson who just shook her head as she closed the door before he trailing after the woman. He couldnt see her face as he followed her down the hallway, but he could see thick burgundy hair pulled messily into a bun and a rather stout frame for a woman that was hourglass at the same time. Reaching Holmes' room he watched as she carelessly threw the doors open ducking whatever Holmes launched at the intruder letting it sail into the wall with a loud crash.

"Holmes I really must protest," she said ignoring the fact that the man in question had just thrown something at her head, "I just cleaned all the scorch marks off the walls in here."

"Isabella my darling! I thought you where going to the market," came the familiar voice of Watson's favorite madman. Stopping behind the woman Watson found Holmes pulling himself up from the floor trying to clean the soot from his face at the same time. "You look ravishing dear. New dress?" the detective asked in an obvious effort to distract the woman from the smoldering paper he was trying to stomp out.

"You havent slept off last night's drink have you?" she sighed advancing into the madman's darken chamber slightly, "Good god! What have you done to this room? Tell me this isnt blood everywhere."

"Of course not! It's ink. I was studying the significances of...Watson how good to see you," he said noticing the doctor lurking in the doorway, Brushing past the woman Holmes moved so that he stood directly in front of Watson.

"Hello Holmes," Watson sighed, "Still terro.." he began but the woman cut him off.

"Excellent! Why dont you and you're friend go out to dinner and perhaps a boxing match," the woman said suddenly as she too seemed to finally notice the doctor, "Yes, that sounds lovely doesnt it Mr. Holmes," she continued turning and giving the men a radiant smile. A from a moment Watson forgot he was a married man. She was lovely with delicate features that any royal would kill for, supple pink lips, and flawless alabaster skin with a slight copper hue that reminded Watson of the desert sun at sunset. But what really fascinated him where her eyes, a rare amethyst that he'd only read about in medical journals.

"No, no. I'm..." Holmes protested but the woman merely shook her head her smile suddenly sly.

"Nonsense sir," she said advancing on them and beganing to herd both men down the hall, "It's been nearly a month since you left. An outing will do you good. Lift your spirits as it where. Dont worry Mr. Holmes I'll make sure that your things are put in their proper places. Go on have some fun. I'll see you when you get back," she said and the front door closed Watson's coattails barely clearing it. Both men shook their heads baffled to find themselves outside staring at the closed front door.

"Well...and who's she?" Watson asked looking at the detective who was staring at the door like it had appeared out of nowhere.

"Isabella Greeves," Holmes replied shaking himself and patting where his pockets should be, "It seems that I've forgotten my..." he began only to be interrupted by the front door opening and his jacket, cane, and hat flying into his face followed by the sound of the door closing and the lock being thrown. "...jacket. So since it seems I've been banished for the time being where to Watson?" he asked picking up his jacket and dusting it off.

"The Royal?" Watson suggested with an amused look at the front door before turning to the street.

"Ah, my favorite," Holmes said pausing on the curb and looking for a cab to hail.

"Quiet a piece of work that one. Where'd you find her?" Watson asked looking at his friend who shook his head smiling slightly.

"She's Nanny's niece actually. She needed a job and for some unfathomable reason Nanny decided that she needed a break from her responsibilities. So in exchange for acting as her replacement Isabella gets a place to live. Fascinating creature that one. Grew up in India with her father who was English and her Mother who was an American Indian. And she has a marvelous mind. She invented a motorized spoon she uses for cooking," he said.

"Sounds like you're quiet taken with her," Watson said as his eyebrows lifted slightly. In truth he hoped that his friend was taken with the purple eyed hellion if only to distract him from the ever increasing state of depression his friend seemed to have been sinking into since Watson's marriage a year and a half ago.

"No no. Just...intrigued," the shorter man replied, "I find her most engaging. It's not often I meet someone with such a viral and intriguing mind."

"And the fact that she's quiet lovely has nothing to do with your...fascination I'm sure," Watson said with a sly grin.

"Is she? I hadnt noticed," Holmes said finally managing to catch a cab driver's attention.

"Ahhh, such a shame. That black hair and..."

"Red. She has red hair, more of a burgundy actually," Holmes said a tad too quickly.

"Of course. How could I be so foolish," Watson chuckled as they got into the cab.


	2. Boxing

With a soft sight Isabella Greeves navigated her way threw the dark allies that would eventually lead her onto Bakers Street. She wondered if when she got home that the madman would be there, She certainly hoped not, the man had sequestered himself in his rooms for more than a week and hadnt left the house in almost two months. When she'd come to 221 Bakers Street five months ago she'd found her Aunt's tales of insanity and chaos hard to believe, but now she didnt. Though unlike her Aunt she found Holmes' unorthodox and odd ways entertaining if trying at times.

In truth Isabella thought that her Aunt had given her responsibility of Bakers Street and Holmes to keep her busy and out of trouble. Not that she needed a reason to aviod going out in public. Even here in England she earned a lot of strange looks and dark glances. Though here the strange hue of her skin was usually attributed to her being a gypsy, which meant that she didnt have to worry about people throwing things at her and screaming that she should go back to the woods with all the other squaw. Not that her mother's people where any kinder; they said she was just as bad as the white men who pillaged their land and raped their people. At least here the people merely shied away from her usually.

Strangely Holmes found her fascinating for the same reason so many found her offensive. He would question her relentlessly some days about her mother's culture and how living in India had effected it. What it had been like growing up a half breed in so many different cultures and places. After few months back when he'd gotten a cold she'd made him a healing broth, and despite his skepticism she'd gotten him to drink it (by literally ambushing him, pinning him down, and pouring it down his throat while thanking god that the bug had sapped most of his strength) he'd spent days interrogating her about every tonic, potion, and broth she knew. And though she'd never admit it to anyone (let alone her Aunt) she rather enjoyed his attention. It sounded absolutely terrible, but she did and not in the way most woman enjoy attention from men. It was nice to have someone to talk to civilly who wasnt trying to get her in bed. In fact most days she doubted that Holmes even realized that she was a woman which suited her just find.

Letting out a soft sigh her mind drifted to other subjects, entertaining them momentarily before dismissing them. As she contemplated how uncomfortable her carriage hat was she was snapped out of her musing by the sound of something moving down the alley behind her. Freezing she gripped the blackjack in her right hand tightly. Though she wasnt the best fighter she was a decent one. Grow up as a half breed and you either learned how to fight or were beat senseless. India or America she was still a mixed breed and both children and adults where cruel no matter where you were. Pretending to adjust her corset she stood still listening. There a soft rustle behind her and to the left.

Starting forward again she walked normally listening as who ever was behind her continued to draw closer. Turning the corner she quickly pressed herself against the wall beside her. Slowing her breathing she waited the weapon in her hand tightly listening as the stalker got closer. And suddenly they burst around the corner...and it was a dog.

"Damn it Gladstone! How the hell did you get out?" she asked kneeling down and looking at the bulldog who stood staring up at her expectantly. The dog had taken an instant liking to her getting underfoot (when he wasnt catatonic from Holmes testing drugs on him) and following her around all day. Sighing she set the bag she carried down and untied the scarf from around her neck to use as makeshift leash. "Come on old boy. Let's get home before Holmes get's back and notices you missing," she said with a small smile down at the dog as he began ambling along beside her snorting and grumbling.

Finally they made it to Bakers Street a small smile jumping to her lips to see the house still dark meaning that unless Holmes had locked himself in his room again it was empty. It seemed that for the moment her Aunt's fears of returning from the trip she left on this evening to find the house in ruins where unfounded. Moving swiftly she unlocked the backdoor shoving it open with her foot. Pausing beside the door she struck a match to light the lantern so she could see only to pause shock painting her pretty features as the match burned out in her fingers.

"HOLMES!"

696969696969

Humming a jaunty Irish tune Holmes was an amazingly good mood as he strolled up the walk to 221 Bakers Street. He felt better than he had in weeks, perhaps he'd listen to Isabella when she suggested an outing more often. Though Watson had spent the entire cab ride to the Royal and most of dinner pestering him about his new flatmate. Watson seemed to think he was infatuated with the woman when that couldnt be further from the truth.

Certainly she was rather lovely but that hardly interested Holmes. He knew how often ugly lies and plots where hidden by such beauty. No, her pretty lips and enchanting eyes had nothing to do with the attention he gave Isabella...it was her mind. She spoke several languages both written and spoken not including her native tongues English, Arabic, and her Mother's tongue. Her wit was as sharp as her tongue and she used both often. In fact he'd never admit it out loud but he thought her mind was brilliant though not nearly like he was. Not in the same way at least, she had a talent for languages, art, and music. She also had a flawless memory, which made her an ideal housekeeper. Everything was always in just the proper when he'd deliberately rearrange things in his room to test her.

Pausing just short of the steps he cocked his head; something was amiss. There where no lights on in the house meaning that Isabella had gone out and Nanny had left on some sort of trip earlier but the front door was cracked. Stopping he listened closely hearing muffled scuffling. Feeling rather chipper he pulled off his jacket and hat rolling up his sleeves and hefting his cane. He was going to enjoy this. Watson had insisted he not fight at the boxing match toni...

"HOLMES!" came a shill scream and suddenly he forgot about enjoying the fight as he rushed forward bursting into the door. Glancing around he heard rustling in the direction of the kitchen and rushes in grabbing the intruder by the wrist as they try to flee. A solid hit connects with the side of his head as the criminal tries to jerk their hand free. Swinging his fist it connected with their jaw just as they jerked free sending them toppling to the floor. Shattered china and scattered silver dug into his palms and knees (and surely the crook's back since he'd landed on top). Grabbing at them he managed pin one arm as an elbow connecting solidly with his jugular as before he could pin the offending arm as well. Rearing back he threw his head forward a sickening crack echoing in the dark room as he felt warm blood from the impact though who it belonged to he wasnt sure. A feminine gasp met his ears and he froze.

"Isabella?" he asked squinting to try and see threw the blackness. Either because she didnt hear him or didnt care she wrenched her hand loose and smashed the nearest thing (which happened to be a bottle of wine) into the side of his head causing him to let out a yelp as he tumbled off her.

"Holmes?" she asked suddenly sitting up, "Is that you?"


End file.
